


The origin of Lokisleep

by Moahoa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Other, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moahoa/pseuds/Moahoa
Summary: Prompt: What if Thor was never sent to earth when the avengers assembled and Loki made way for death himself in his absence?





	The origin of Lokisleep

The festivities were grander this year, the music carried from his tower all across the city, beckoning citizens of Midgard to join the celebration. Every city held a tower in a similar image, lovingly shaped out of gold and glass, the balcony adorned with curved horns and at which he welcomed them personally. Such an address forced him to his knees the moment the doors closed behind him, but no place was to feel forgotten under his reign. And his duplicates had drawn them in all over the planet, hordes of them in the streets, cheering.

 

To think that only a year prior, they resisted him so; their releaser, their savior, their immortal king.

 

But that was two days ago and his own personal celebration had just begun. It was promising to be the grandest of them all. He had turned his secret palace into, three stories of decadence, wine, women and song. Midgardian tradition decreed dancing to flashing lights as well and he was happy to indulge whenever it was asked of him. When it was not, he resided on his throne, watching his guests enjoy themselves.

 

He put the closest watch on the former man of iron, the only survivor of the former palace residents, back when it the palace still bore his name. They had fought on many occasion, verbally and physically. But whatever spell that had made him spare him during the Chituari invasion would come over him again and instead of killing him once and for all, they had a drink. Stark was not an ally or friend, but his people had known him and loved him a long time and Loki enjoyed his company enough to repeat the cycle.

 

Right now, the man was busying himself at the bar, rejecting all solicitation and well-meaning gestures of comfort with equal measure. Loki watches as he downs shot after shot, before abruptly standing and quickly barreling his way across the crowd, pushing people to the side to get to him. Even in the darkness, Loki could plainly see trails of sweat and tears stream across his face. He throws a small object at the throne, it blinks twice before blowing off a good chunk of the armrest.

 

Loki lets the duplicate fade and uses the crowds shock to climb onto the bar disk unseen.

 

”A toast to rebirth.” He calls, using his magic to help his voice carry over the music.

 

The crowd cheers at his reappearance and Stark grasp a glass of something fizzy from a passing servant. He chugs it, then let’s it drop to the floor. Loki motions for the servant to bring him another before disappearing into the crowd.

 

To rise to power had been easy. The invasion hadn’t garnered Heimdals attention, as expected, that or Odin had been forced back into sleep and Thor wasn’t enough to crack open one of the old tomes long enough to find an alternate route. With the Chitauri on his side, the war had been more like herding cattle to slaughter than any real fight. All their heroes fell under the mind stones might, crushing each other one by one, until only Stark remained.

 

 

It was not an honorable fight by Loki’s standards as his adoptive father had been very clear that first blood was something one could never wash off their hands. But Loki’s hands bore no mark of the slaughter or the sacrifices he had made under the years in Thanos care. So he was willing to concede that it was an inane principle, although unsurprising as it stemmed from the same ancient values that deemed warriors foolish enough to perish in their first battle as more honorable than scholars who’s wit lead them to a comfortable life in old age.

 

His reasoning had not kept him from developing the habit of picking at his hands as if a blood or scar would suddenly have appeared whenever he thought about the battle. Though that might be justified because of the aftermath, first blood and outwitting the enemy on their own playing field was one thing, but to sacrifice so many, he wouldn’t been able to do it. In the end, it hadn’t been his choice for he had made a deal with death himself and the price tag was half the population, the result a kingdom of rubble with only the promise possible prosperity.

 

Another might have turned to despair, but not him, the universe had spared him for this. His wit was put to good use during the first few months in saving the Midgardians from a total systemic collapse. Luckily the mortals were feeble, so it was in their nature to not bite the hand which fed them and his rule remained largely uncontested even as proper rebuilding started. With a few choice words to boot, he’d been able to sway the perception at least publicly. But the mortals’ shortsightedness had a backside, to keep the power meant keeping up a seamless façade and micromanaging just about everything as a single misstep might lead to outright revolution. He literally had to be everywhere at once, at all times and frankly, it was exhausting.

 

He was beginning to see why Odin was so fond of sleeping, he thinks as he finally retreats into his private rooms, sinking into the tastefully worn out leather armchair. The back of his head doesn’t have time to touch the seat before a dagger swings through the air and embeds itself where it had been a few minutes prior, cleaving a good chunk of his hair clean off in the process.

 

“You were always terrible at darts.” He mumbles as he scrambles to his feet.

 

“You have been found guilty of high treason to the throne of Asgard, by the order of the Allfather, I have sent to bring you home.” The lady Sif rambles, splitting her double blade as a warning.

 

To think there was a time he’d procrastinated away days just to avoid facing her in the training grounds, what a waste of time.

 

“How did you find me?” He asks, resting an elbow against the top of the chair.

 

This seems to throw her off for she scrambles her words. “You–You must be jesting? You lead an alien force that wrought havoc, death and destruction to a realm under Asgardian protection!”

 

Loki rolls his eyes.

 

“Oh Sif, you always were a great huntress and formidable warrior, but as tactician there is a lot left to be desired.” He goads as he lets a two duplicates close in on her from behind.

 

She rolls out of their wake and dispels them with each of her blades, but Loki advances and activates one of his more aggressive protections spells, trapping her inside a circle of green fire.

 

“And you have always been coward, hiding behind tricks and other people to fight your battles for you.” She spits as she tries to part the flames with the enchantment on her blades, but the slice reseals itself the moment she retracts the swords. Only weapons forged by dwarven hands like Mjölnir or Gugnir would be able powerful enough to break it permanently.

 

“Speaking of, where is my brother? Was he not the one who swore the oath of protection?” Loki questions picking up and fiddling with a seemingly harmless frosted glass orb he’d been using as a paper weight for the ever growing papers on his desk.

 

“Your father did not think it wise to send Thor given his recent…” Sif hateful gaze falters as she pauses to wets her tongue. “… entanglement with one of the mortals.”

 

“Odin would rather see Midgard conquered than to run the risk of his heir bedding a mortal?!” Loki almost drops the orb and is forced to save face by rolling it over his knuckles despite suddenly being acutely aware that this orb was the same one he’d used to trap a hurricane a week or so prior.

 

Sif holds her tongue. Loki puts down the paperweight.

 

“I should kill you.” He says, nonchalantly, because what would another life on top of 3.4 billion really matter in the grand scheme of things. “But.”, he continues,” I need someone to tell Odin, that whatever debt he thinks I owe was payed when Thor threw me off the bitfrost.”

 

He lowers just enough of the barrier so that she could step through if she would so choose.

“Rest assured that I will not spare you a second time if you were compelled to return.”

 

Sif stands tall and proud as she steps through, but does not attack.

 

“Very well.” She says curtly and makes a point of hitting his shoulder on the way out.

 

He just barely resists retracting the second chance.

 

But then she pauses in the doorway.

 

“I was to inform you that if you do not stand trial now, there will not be another and…” Sif trails off, hand caressing the doorway as if it was an old friend. “Your brother will continue to mourn your absence.”

 

Loki scoffs.

 

“Tell him, to spare his grief. For I will not contest his reign, if he does not contest mine.”  He spits, feeling the ice within creep to the surface of his rage.

 

Sif opens her mouth as if to say something more, but instead she raises her sword towards the sky and disappears in a familiar burst of light without as much as a farewell.

 

Loki lets the ward of protection fall completely, letting the room fall into darkness once more. He pulls the dagger out of his chair and stows it away. Then he sits back down, brings his perfectly smooth hand to his face and screams until he the air runs out of his lungs and his throat feels raw.

 

Then he wipes the tears away with his unarmored sleeve and buries it. There was no time for despair. He was a survivor, a king, and one of his duplicates had just spotted a vibranium-clad army in sub-saharan Africa.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always been intrigued by the paradox that is Loki. The fact that he does things out of hurt, rather than true ambition means that when he wins, he doesn’t get what he wants and that profound tragedy of that would be beautiful.
> 
> Also unbetad and written in two nights because I heard ”Wonderland” by Caravan Palace, it’s neat, you should listen to it.
> 
> PS. If anyone would like to take this universe or the prompt that started it and run with it, I'd be down to read it, just saying!


End file.
